Consciousness was such a fleeting thing sometimes and Tiergan, a young miqo’te of about fifteen summers, found himself floating at the very fringes of it.
He couldn’t remember much of what had come before - he could only recall the enormous silhouette of a towering roegadyn before the world fell into shadow. The sea of obsidian was comforting in its own way. He felt light and weightless - a piece of flotsam drifting upon gentle ink-black waves. There was no one else here save him, and the solitude, the silence, sent a spark of hope to his chest. No more screaming, booming commands - no lanistae forcing him to bend, break, and reforge his body into a tool built only for savagery. For the first time in what felt like a decade, he was finally truly alone…
…And then he wasn’t.
Frigid water struck Tiergan’s head and chest like an icy slap and he jolted awake, pale eyes peeling wide with alarm. He was in a dimly lit room, a shaft of golden light shining through a part in the heavy curtains covering the doorway. Several people were somewhere behind him, shuffling and circling, muttering softly amongst themselves – something about preparation and combat. Tiergan heard the soft familiar sound of a steel blade being drawn from its sheathe and fear clawed its way up through his chest into his heart. He surged forward, caving to the sudden impulse to leap from the chair and flee – only to be jerked back by solid resistance.
Restraints. Thick, heavy leather straps bound his arms and legs, holding him securely in place. Panic swelled in his lungs, suffocating him, stealing all air and pushing up, up through his throat until finally it released in a frantic, desperate shout.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! What did I do wrong?!! I’ll never do it again!â€
A low, rumbling chuckle came from behind him - a deep bass that rolled out like echoing thunder. Tiergan froze still, a hulking roegadyn circling around the chair to move in front of him; the warden’s skin was the color of old wine and his eyes held the fierce cruelty of a behemoth. A heavy assortment of steel and leather armor was layered over his body, with a broad, two-handed axe strapped securely to his back. The man was smiling, but somehow the expression lacked all mirth and kindness.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, boy. Quite the opposite really. Today is the day of your first fight.â€
The miqo’te paled, his heart dropping like a stone into the pit of his stomach, replaced by a coiling sense of dread. His first fight? His first time on the Bloodsands? How could that possibly be– No. No, he was too young. The coliseum likely wouldn’t take a boy his age. It had to be the Pit then, or another arena. One were coin flowed more freely and carried more weight than the lives of children.
Tiergan felt a chill creep down his spine, his breath coming in rapid bursts. When he spoke, the miqo’te’s voice came out as a dry whisper, barely audible over the rustling of cloth and the harsh sound of a small mortar and pestle, grinding away. “Then- then why? Why am I–â€
“Why are you strapped to that chair as though we were planning to skin you alive?†The roegadyn toned, shaking his head before all humor dropped from the man’s features. His eyes were cold, cruel, and unfeeling - the stare of a man who’d seen and caused countless deaths and would likely be responsible for many, many more. “It’s mainly to hold you still. This may be your first fight, but there’s more riding upon it than just the start of your glorious fighting career - so we can’t afford to let you lose.â€
The roegadyn suddenly jerked his chin in the youth’s direction, looking to some unseen figure on the side. “Open his mouth. Make sure he takes all of it.â€
Tiergan’s eyes peeled wide, ears flaring up in terror. He barely had time to let out a single terrified shout before several hands swarmed in from behind him, forcing his jaw open, tilting his head back, holding him still as a small palm-sized mortar suddenly loomed overhead. A fine black and green powder spilled into his mouth like poisoned water, coating his tongue, pouring down his throat, burning when it eventually reached his stomach He choked, struggling, gagging, the powder’s bitter taste and acrid smell overwhelming all of his senses.
The world gradually began to spin around and ‘round over head - a slow, dizzying, merry-go-round cycle that only grew faster and faster with time. Light blended into into shadow, faces and figures blurred into one another, murmuring voices crashing and cascading over him like the low, harsh croon of monsters. Flesh melted from the bodies of men, gaping sockets and laughing jaws yawning into the looming darkness. Their armor twisted and warped, the sickening crack of bone and squelch of flesh resounding in Tiergan’s ears as steel, iron, and leather curved and spiraled into long spindling legs, barbed carapaces, and bony, bat-like wings.
The roegadyn warrior’s still remained standing before him, but his head twisted jarringly upon his shoulders, ripping upside down at an impossible, horrifying angle before that chilling smile flashed across the warden’s face again, cruel, mirthless, and terrible.
“Time to go win, boy.â€
The burgandy-skinned man opened his mouth, his jaws widening, tearing, and stretching as a long, gleaming steel sword emerged handle-first from his throat. The blade sliced against the warrior’s tongue and the inside of his mouth as it passed through and once it had fully left his lips, the warden let out a bloody gurgling cackle.
Tiergan was abruptly ejected forward, tumbling out of the chair and onto something soft and pliant. The sword hit the ground with a loud wet slap beside him, gleaming in the shadows like firebrand. He was confused at first, baffled as to where he could possibly have ended up before a clawed talon immediately pierced into his arm, sending searing pain through his body. A soft, chittering, crackling sound drew Tiergan’s eyes downward in time to see a thousand gnarled, rotting demons emerging from the shadows cast upon a floor made of pulsing flesh and blood. He could feel the scrape of their claws against his skin, the sharp, bite of razor sharp fangs, and fear rapidly swallowed him up in a mad, terrifying frenzy.
The boy howled, snatching the sword up in his hands and swinging wildly to fend the voidsent back even as they continued to close in on him. He plunged himself in a crazed, desperate battle for survival against things that could only have been real in nightmares, roaring and snarling even as many of them began to meld together into a terrible, hideous whole.
It was only just the beginning.
The effects of Blackroot Rose leaves could last for over an hour.
_____________________________________________________
Lore Trivia: Leaves of the blackroot rose are known to cause horrible visions and induce extreme fits of violence. Animals who eat them grow frenzied, may attack anything that crosses their path, and are often forced to be put down.
He couldn’t remember much of what had come before - he could only recall the enormous silhouette of a towering roegadyn before the world fell into shadow. The sea of obsidian was comforting in its own way. He felt light and weightless - a piece of flotsam drifting upon gentle ink-black waves. There was no one else here save him, and the solitude, the silence, sent a spark of hope to his chest. No more screaming, booming commands - no lanistae forcing him to bend, break, and reforge his body into a tool built only for savagery. For the first time in what felt like a decade, he was finally truly alone…
…And then he wasn’t.
Frigid water struck Tiergan’s head and chest like an icy slap and he jolted awake, pale eyes peeling wide with alarm. He was in a dimly lit room, a shaft of golden light shining through a part in the heavy curtains covering the doorway. Several people were somewhere behind him, shuffling and circling, muttering softly amongst themselves – something about preparation and combat. Tiergan heard the soft familiar sound of a steel blade being drawn from its sheathe and fear clawed its way up through his chest into his heart. He surged forward, caving to the sudden impulse to leap from the chair and flee – only to be jerked back by solid resistance.
Restraints. Thick, heavy leather straps bound his arms and legs, holding him securely in place. Panic swelled in his lungs, suffocating him, stealing all air and pushing up, up through his throat until finally it released in a frantic, desperate shout.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! What did I do wrong?!! I’ll never do it again!â€
A low, rumbling chuckle came from behind him - a deep bass that rolled out like echoing thunder. Tiergan froze still, a hulking roegadyn circling around the chair to move in front of him; the warden’s skin was the color of old wine and his eyes held the fierce cruelty of a behemoth. A heavy assortment of steel and leather armor was layered over his body, with a broad, two-handed axe strapped securely to his back. The man was smiling, but somehow the expression lacked all mirth and kindness.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, boy. Quite the opposite really. Today is the day of your first fight.â€
The miqo’te paled, his heart dropping like a stone into the pit of his stomach, replaced by a coiling sense of dread. His first fight? His first time on the Bloodsands? How could that possibly be– No. No, he was too young. The coliseum likely wouldn’t take a boy his age. It had to be the Pit then, or another arena. One were coin flowed more freely and carried more weight than the lives of children.
Tiergan felt a chill creep down his spine, his breath coming in rapid bursts. When he spoke, the miqo’te’s voice came out as a dry whisper, barely audible over the rustling of cloth and the harsh sound of a small mortar and pestle, grinding away. “Then- then why? Why am I–â€
“Why are you strapped to that chair as though we were planning to skin you alive?†The roegadyn toned, shaking his head before all humor dropped from the man’s features. His eyes were cold, cruel, and unfeeling - the stare of a man who’d seen and caused countless deaths and would likely be responsible for many, many more. “It’s mainly to hold you still. This may be your first fight, but there’s more riding upon it than just the start of your glorious fighting career - so we can’t afford to let you lose.â€
The roegadyn suddenly jerked his chin in the youth’s direction, looking to some unseen figure on the side. “Open his mouth. Make sure he takes all of it.â€
Tiergan’s eyes peeled wide, ears flaring up in terror. He barely had time to let out a single terrified shout before several hands swarmed in from behind him, forcing his jaw open, tilting his head back, holding him still as a small palm-sized mortar suddenly loomed overhead. A fine black and green powder spilled into his mouth like poisoned water, coating his tongue, pouring down his throat, burning when it eventually reached his stomach He choked, struggling, gagging, the powder’s bitter taste and acrid smell overwhelming all of his senses.
The world gradually began to spin around and ‘round over head - a slow, dizzying, merry-go-round cycle that only grew faster and faster with time. Light blended into into shadow, faces and figures blurred into one another, murmuring voices crashing and cascading over him like the low, harsh croon of monsters. Flesh melted from the bodies of men, gaping sockets and laughing jaws yawning into the looming darkness. Their armor twisted and warped, the sickening crack of bone and squelch of flesh resounding in Tiergan’s ears as steel, iron, and leather curved and spiraled into long spindling legs, barbed carapaces, and bony, bat-like wings.
The roegadyn warrior’s still remained standing before him, but his head twisted jarringly upon his shoulders, ripping upside down at an impossible, horrifying angle before that chilling smile flashed across the warden’s face again, cruel, mirthless, and terrible.
“Time to go win, boy.â€
The burgandy-skinned man opened his mouth, his jaws widening, tearing, and stretching as a long, gleaming steel sword emerged handle-first from his throat. The blade sliced against the warrior’s tongue and the inside of his mouth as it passed through and once it had fully left his lips, the warden let out a bloody gurgling cackle.
Tiergan was abruptly ejected forward, tumbling out of the chair and onto something soft and pliant. The sword hit the ground with a loud wet slap beside him, gleaming in the shadows like firebrand. He was confused at first, baffled as to where he could possibly have ended up before a clawed talon immediately pierced into his arm, sending searing pain through his body. A soft, chittering, crackling sound drew Tiergan’s eyes downward in time to see a thousand gnarled, rotting demons emerging from the shadows cast upon a floor made of pulsing flesh and blood. He could feel the scrape of their claws against his skin, the sharp, bite of razor sharp fangs, and fear rapidly swallowed him up in a mad, terrifying frenzy.
The boy howled, snatching the sword up in his hands and swinging wildly to fend the voidsent back even as they continued to close in on him. He plunged himself in a crazed, desperate battle for survival against things that could only have been real in nightmares, roaring and snarling even as many of them began to meld together into a terrible, hideous whole.
It was only just the beginning.
The effects of Blackroot Rose leaves could last for over an hour.
_____________________________________________________
Lore Trivia: Leaves of the blackroot rose are known to cause horrible visions and induce extreme fits of violence. Animals who eat them grow frenzied, may attack anything that crosses their path, and are often forced to be put down.
